


He needs his anchor

by misfitwolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Full Moon, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitwolves/pseuds/misfitwolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He needs his anchor.”</p><p>It's Stiles’s first full moon and it isn’t going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He needs his anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Another way for me to vent my feelings about 3x20, I'll warn you it's quite angsty, enjoy!

“He needs his anchor.”

It was Stiles’s first full moon and it wasn’t going well; he was currently chained to a beam, while the rest of the pack were trying to think of ways to help him.

“You say that as though he already has one, has he?” Kira asked, eyebrows raised; Lydia took a deep breath, remembering everything Deaton had said that night when Scott, Stiles and Allison had to sacrifice themselves. _Was he right? She was sure that he hadn’t been wrong before, maybe she really was his –_

“It’s me, I think I’m his anchor.” Malia’s voice interrupted her thoughts, Lydia already didn’t trust Malia; in fact she saw her as an unwelcome intruder in their pack,

“Back at Eichen House, we, uh, we slept together…”

The girl’s unwanted voice fades away as Lydia processes what she just said; _Stiles had slept with her? He had slept with Malia?_

_What did you expect? For him to wait forever? For him to wait for you?_

_But –_

Lydia suddenly felt as though she couldn’t breathe, her heart felt heavy, and she could feel the stinging salt of her unshed tears collecting in her eyes. She had to leave, she couldn't listen to this, she couldn’t, it hurt too much. So she left; ignoring the calls of her name from Scott, and the pitying stare she felt on her back from Allison. She had to hide until it all went away, until she was able to suck her emotions into her ever-growing emotional vacuum, until she could forget the glimmer of true happiness that she felt at the thought that it could have been her, that, for once, she had been needed.

 

*

 

Stiles was worse than before when Scott brought Malia to him. If he was being honest Scott was doubtful about the werecoyote being Stiles’s anchor, his mind instead going to the petite redhead, who had seemingly disappeared since she ran out of the room upon Malia’s declaration. Scott hung back and let Malia approach his best friend, who was now desperately trying to break free of his chains.

“Malia? What are you doing here?” Scott saw the confusion on his friend’s face and frowned, this wasn’t right: when Allison had been his anchor the mere sight of her was able to calm him down; Malia was having the opposite effect.

“I’m your anchor Stiles, aren’t I?”

“What?” Stiles shook his head, looking even more confused and agitated. It was this that told Scott immediately that he had to get Malia out of here before something happened,

“Malia? Come on, let’s leave him for a while.” Scott said trying to get her out of the room without causing a scene, but she ignored him, continuing to try and convince Stiles that she was his anchor. So he tried again. And again. And again, until, at the same time,

“You’re not his anchor!”

“You’re not my anchor!”

The shouts of the two boys rang through the empty silence of the room. Isaac appeared at this point, after having heard the yelling, and quickly pulled a confused and shocked Malia from the room. Moments after they had left, Allison ran in,

“What happened? I heard the yelling but Isaac said Malia wasn’t his anchor?”

Scott shook his head, “She wasn’t, she was making him worse if anything.” Allison frowned, “Well then, if not Malia then…” She trailed off as both she and Scott came to the same conclusion. Lydia. Seemingly Stiles had as well, that or he had known all along, “Where is she Scott?” He asked desperately, he sounded lost. Scott turned to Allison and silently asked if she knew where Lydia was, but she shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to find her, something’s wrong, just find her please.” Stiles struggled to get the words out, fighting against the cries that so wanted to escape him.

“Find her Scott, please.”

 

*

 

Lydia was curled up in a place where no one would find her, and even if they did they weren’t going to be able to get her out of there: it was the reason why she had chosen to hide in the chest made of Rowan wood; a good defence when the majority of the current inhabitants of Derek’s loft were of the supernatural kind. Hearing him only made her feel worse; ever since that night she’d been hearing Stiles in her head more and more often; and tonight she was hearing everything, every little thing that was going on in his head she heard, and it was killing her. She wondered whether this is what it had been like for him with the Nogitsune; she certainly felt possessed by her feelings for him. She’d been successfully able to ignore it for the past hour, when suddenly she heard him again. Stronger, louder this time, cutting through all her defences to surround her.

_“Lydia, where are you?”_

_“Please Lydia, come find me…”_ This was hitting to close to when he’d gone missing the first time, the leaden feeling in her stomach when she’d heard him through the speakers.

“ _Lydia, I need you.”_

_Then why? Why Malia? You don’t need me; you have her –_

As if hearing her thoughts, Stiles answered,

_“I don’t know, I was scared and lonely and she was there, I thought I was going to die Lydia, and well you know I didn’t want to die a virgin.”_

_And now you’re not, good for you_ , even in her mind she couldn’t keep from snapping at him sarcastically, _if you’re suffering so much why don’t you ask for her –_

_“Because Malia’s not my anchor. She never was and she never will be. It’s always been you Lydia and that’s never going to change, I love –”_

She forced herself to shut him out; she didn’t want to hear him say those words to her; not in her head, where she can claim delusion.

 

*

 

She left her hiding place and flew down the stairs to where she knew he would be. He was already looking at her when she entered the room (he later admitted that he’d felt her coming for him, he’d been watching for her from the moment she cut him off); he was pretty much in full wolf mode: ears pointed, fangs bared, his eyes yellow (not blue she noticed, he was still deemed innocent in some supernatural deities’ mind), but he visibly relaxed at the sight of her, no longer struggling against his restraints.

 

"Where'd Scott find you?" He asked, his eyes still on her, his voice strained,

"He didn't. I heard you."

As she came closer the visible signs of the moon’s effect faded as well, his eyes last, changing back into the warm brown she knew and loved. He sighed in relief when she knelt next to him, similar to the way they were left after she’d kissed him in the locker room that day, months ago, and took his free hand gently,

 “You meant it. You needed me.” She said softly, like a sigh, and he frowned as he saw shining tears in her eyes, “It’s always been you Lydia. Always.” She let out a sob and letting go of his hand, wrapped her arms around his neck,

“I thought, I thought that – ” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was going to tell you – I’m sorry.” He wound his free arm around her, and gently rocked her back and forth; placing feather light kisses against her temple.

 

People may think that he was a fool for apologising for sleeping with Malia, Lydia had slept with plenty of people hadn’t she? And it wasn’t like anything had been going on between them. But that wasn’t the point, he knew why Lydia had acted the way she had with boys in the past; she wanted attention, she wanted someone to need her as much as she needed them; just as he knew that she wasn’t really upset about the fact that he had had sex with Malia, just as she hadn’t been mad over Caitlin. Lydia didn’t care about what he did with these girls because she was able to hold on to the fact that he had loved her since the third grade and that he needed her; that she mattered so much to him that if she died he would go out of his freaking mind. But when Malia had declared that she was Stiles’s anchor, Lydia had nothing to hold onto; the force of Malia’s implications would have meant that he didn’t need her anymore, she didn’t matter to him anymore, and deep down in her mind she believed that if he didn’t care, no one did. Lydia knew that he knew this, which was why she knew that he wasn’t apologising for sleeping with Malia, he was apologising to try and keep her from falling apart. To try and convince her that he did need her, and want her, and care about her.

 

She ended his mumbling apologies with a kiss; an honest to whatever thing was out there, kiss, no panic attacks, no ulterior motive, just Lydia and Stiles and the moonlight streaming through the large windows of the loft. As their kiss deepened, with him pulling her closer than she thought possible, and her with her hands in his hair, holding on desperately, as though they had swapped places and he was her anchor, he was the thing keeping her from drowning. Stiles mumbled the same phase, “Kocham Cię,” again and again against her lips, and in her mind; Lydia knew what he was saying, Polish was one of the seventeen languages she knew, and she didn’t know what made her heart ache more: the fact that he whispered his devotion reverently like a prayer or the fact that she knew that this meant more than any of his other declarations. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, moving his hand round from her waist, up her back until it rested softly on her cheek.

 

“I love you Lydia Martin, always have, and always will.”

She bit her lip to try and contain her smile, and the girlish giggles of joy that threatened to pass her lips.

“I love you too Stiles Stilinski.”

 

In that moment, nothing mattered anymore; he said that he loved her, and she’d been able to say it back.


End file.
